Total Eclipse at Dawn
by KaneBuddy
Summary: The remnants of a frigate are found near a planet in the 28th century. The Master Chief protects a humans on one side of a civil war, while the Spartans from the Dyson Sphere side with the opposition. Will old friends unknowingly kill one another?
1. Total Eclipse of Dawn

Mick Reagent's sharp, angular face came into view on the screen. His piercing blue eyes were set into a perpetual squint that made him look like he was trying to hide behind his eyelids. His thin lips were pulled into an emotionless expression as they were pulled across his wrinkled face. The only sign that the man had ever been youthful were the trace yellow hairs that fought for survival amongst their half-inch long gray peers upon his head. His eyes slowly zigzagged up the screen until his blue eyes met up with Jake Oberlin's brown ones. "I demand to know why the Hell you woke me up at this hour Private!" Mick didn't ask questions, he demanded answers, and he always received them. "You better have a damn good reason for getting me up this early. If you don't, so help me God, I will have you shipped planetside to be a sewer-scrubber for the rest of your ungrateful life!" His eyebrows had begun to form a partial "V" on his forehead, and his face was tinting itself red.

Jake gulped, trying to maintain an aura of control, and failing miserably. "S-s-sir" he stuttered out, "W-we've just located the remains of a ship drifting towards the planet. Estimates indicate that will enter the atmosphere within two days time unless an outside force alters its trajectory."

Mick's face brightened for a moment, his eyes lost their momentary anger, but none of their fierceness. Calmly, he rapid-fired questions to Jake, "Who made it? How'd it get here? Where'd it come from? Any radio signals? Is there anyone onboard? Is it powered? Have we detected any threats?"

Jake, now fully composed, replied point-by-point, "It appears to be the rear half of an old 2550-type Frigate of Human origin. It got here in what appears to be a modified slipspace jump. As of yet, the entry-point for the slipspace transition does not match any known systems. No radio signals, scans show no life onboard, and the engine appears to have been cut in half. We cannot accurately determine any threats unless we board."

Mick rubbed his chin where the traces of a five-o'clock shadow were beginning to show and thought for a moment. "Send in two flights of SPEARs to check the ship out. If they find any signs of funny business after a complete inspection, have them blow it to hell. If not, have them pull it into a stable orbit around the planet where we can get a better look at it. It would definitely be interesting to see who around here is trying to use a two-hundred year old warship."

As soon as Jake replied with a hesitant "Yessir." The screen went black.

The SPEARs, or Space and Earth forces were a large group of specialists trained to fight in zero-gee zones, take out spacecraft, and if need be use guerilla warfare on land-based installations. The leader of these two platoons was a man by the name of Tycho Anderson. His small, wiry frame hid the true muscle strength he had won from being a SPEAR for seven years. Most people underestimated the five-foot six brown haired and green-eyed man. Everyone under his command however, had learned to respect and admire him. In his tenure as their commander, they had accomplished all fifty-four missions assigned to them, and he hadn't lost a single man in any of the normally risky spec-op missions. So all hundred men were more than willing to go with him on what most were already calling a 'milk run'. In ten minutes, everyone was suited up in their vacuum sealed Battle-Suits, and loading up inside a Tugboat dropship.

The Battle-Suit was a finely tuned piece of armor, the vacuum sealed under suit was protected by an outer suit. That suit was made from alternating layers of ceramic and an aluminum-titanium mesh. These layers gave protection from plasma and conventional fire, and were extremely lightweight. The outer suit also housed a battery pack and a shield generator. It would only last two weeks before running out, but it could be fully charged in twelve hours, and as an added bonus, the shield produced yet another vacuum seal. This is what Anderson was pondering as he stared at the dozens of snub-nosed helmets bobbing around the Tug. He could never really figure out what the shield was, despite what the scientists told him about electrons, plasma, and all that other gibberish people went to college for.

Compared to the armor he was wearing, the Tugboat they were riding up to the ship in was a piece of junk. Most people described the Tugs as a quartet of rockets welded to a metal box. The same people said it was butt-ugly and wondered how it got approval to fly. The designer of the ship agreed, but reminded everyone, "You don't see supermodels going into the moving service, don't expect the same with spaceships."

Soon enough, the Tug pulled up alongside the abandoned ship. Anderson could barely make out part of the name that survived on this side, "For". From the reconnaissance pictures, Anderson could remember that the other side said "Dawn".

"'For Dawn', I wonder who named her that. Must've been a powerful gal to name a warship after her." His thoughts were fragmented when his second-in-command, Fred Ward grasped his shoulder.

"Time to drop Captain."

Anderson faced the men who were packed together in the Tug, "Alright, two squads are going to stay here with Ward just in case something goes wrong. If I give the word, detonate the bomb we'll place on board. Everyone out! Move! Move! Move!"

Everyone with the exception of the two squads piled out of the craft, floating towards the unknown ship. Thanks to the tug pilot, they were maybe only twelve feet away. Once they got near the ship, their magnetic boots latched onto the hull, making dull hollow sounds echo throughout the ship. Anderson, the last one out of the Tug and the last one on the ship, gave the thumbs-up to the pilot, and the men were alone on the hull. Anderson turned the radio on, giving orders to Smith, who had the cutting torch, to make a door for them. A few seconds passed, and then he found a suitable spot and began cutting a man-sized hole in the wall. Working quickly, Smith soon finished and proceeded to push the piece inside the ship and also drew up his weapon, an oversized pistol. Everyone else did the same, and very soon, a half-dozen pistols, a few SMG's, a couple shotguns, and several dozen assault rifles were in the soldiers hands. Anderson pulled out his weapon also, being commander, he was allowed to test out a few experimental designs like this one. It was similar in shape and size to a paintball gun, mostly because it was a modified paintball gun. It was extremely accurate in vacuums and enclosed spaces. It fired alternating rounds tat were either acid-filled balls, or metal balls which, upon contact emitted a controlled EMP burst to disable shields.

"Everyone in the Ship." Anderson called out, and the soldiers quickly entered. When Anderson entered, the darkened hallway was filled with the crisscrossing flashlight beams of almost ninety weapons. Down this hallway, there were eight doors, four on the left, and four on the right. One door on each side was open, the rest were closed, and presumably locked without power.

"Alright, everyone from Ward's platoon, left door. You know the drill, anything biological and you report it and fall back. Move out."

Second Platoon, weapons raised, slid through the open door, oil over water.

Once the last man had gone through, Anderson led his group through the door on the right. They entered yet another passageway; this one had a full dozen bulkheads, five on his left, six on his right, and one straight across. The fifty flashlights stitched across the hallway, no lights here either.

Anderson paused a moment, thinking how best to handle the situation, then ordered "Two men on each door, report what you see over the COM system. O'Brian, Toi, and I will take the door on the end."

By the time Anderson's three man team had reached their door, all the other ones had been tried, none had opened. The explosives expert, Wilshire, radioed Anderson, "All doors are locked Sir. None of them are going to open without power or explosives. Do we have permission to use entrance charges?"

Permission granted, detonate and enter the rooms simultaneously." Fifteen seconds passed as every squad fitted an entrance charge to their door. A muffled thump reverberated through the ship as each door was blown in and the men stormed the rooms.

"First team reporting, we've got the mess hall, everything's clear here."

"Team two here, we've got a storage room, all clear."

"Third team has the kitchen also, we see first and fifth."

"Fourth team reporting, we have the captain's quarters, A-Okay here."

Every team reported in, and the reports were all positive, no signs of foul play, it seemed as if everyone on the ship had just disappeared with no trace. It was all starting to freak out Anderson, who was used to straightforward threats.

Anderson and his team had waited to detonate their charge because they had to listen to the reports, but now that the reports were finished, one more dull thump shook through their bones. Just like the other doors, the explosive had blown the lock and it retracted into the ceiling and floor. Anderson hopped into the doorway, prepared to run into the room, and was greeted by another door. He stared at it quizzically, it had a green blinking LED on the door, it's control panel was lit up and flashed a set of words on and off repeatedly, "Bulkhead seal compromised, do you wish to enact emergency protocols?"

It went against all of his previous training, as well as common sense, but Anderson felt something special behind that door. So he pushed 'yes'. The hall was immediately bathed in red emergency lights. A second later, several far off rumbles could be heard, as well as a hissing sound.

His radio equally filled with responses from his platoon.

"Lights are on in the mess hall."

"Same for the storage area…"

"…tta lot of action here..."

"…mostphere detected here in…"

"…Radio Sir…"

"…the power coming from?"

"…beacon signal you should hea…"

"Everyone cut the chatter!" an exasperated Anderson called out over the COM, "We'll discuss everything at the entrance in twenty minutes!"

That outburst stopped everyone mid-sentence, and the COM system was quiet once more. Anderson turned to his door, the panel now said "Ready to open… press /Y/". Anderson complied, and the door shot open quickly.

The whole scene was a moment Anderson would not soon forget, the endless rows of empty cryopods was like something out of a movie. The red lights reflected off every metallic and glass surface. There in the center though, was a frosted-over pod. Anderson tentatively edged nearer and nearer to the pod that was a little over fifty feet away.

After his third step, the white florescent lights flickered on, threatened to turn off again, but then gave off a steady stream of light. Anderson paused for a moment, looked around, and raised his gun to his chest, O'Brian and Toi, who were following five feet behind did the same.

A small holo-tank in the corner sputtered violently to life. The three men whirled about to see what happened and pointed their guns at the tank. Blue squares and purple lines spewed out of the tank, and an artificial sounding voice filled with static emanated from the overhead speakers, "G-g-goo-good b-b-bye." The voice descended into unintelligible static and the holo-tank stopped emitting.

Anderson stared at his team, O'Brian simply shrugged his shoulders, and Toi gestured to the filled Cryopod, the frost was beginning to melt off. Anderson, ignoring everything he had learned once more, ran over to the tube, the frost was several centimeters thick, whoever was in there had been in there for quite a while. However, before all of the ice sloughed off, the tube started opening. Years of training kicked in for Anderson, he pulled his gun to his chest and placed his sights on the opening cryopod. When it opened, all he could see was a green fog. He paused, shifting his weight from foot to foot, when a gloved hand emerged slowly from the foggy mist and grasped the side of the pod. Another gauntlet rose, and the figure pulled himself up from his icy coffin.

Anderson stood there, mouth agape, as the seven foot man encased in green armor, exited the cryopod and hopped on the floor. The man looked around, his polarized visor blocked his face from view, but it was clear he was looking for something. When he began looking at the holo-tank, it sputtered to life once more, and the blue boxes and purple lines formed themselves, as if they simply willed themselves to exist, and formed into the rough outline of a woman. The voice also started, although not static-filed, it was still ragged, but carried immense emotion, it called out "A-and, g-g-good l-luck."

The holo-tank went dark once more, and the lights flickered twice before quitting, and the last Spartan stared at Anderson as if to say, "Now what?"


	2. Final Sunset For Dawn

**2 - Final Sunset For Dawn**

**Please leave your opinion. I originally wasn't going to continue until the tenth review, but I figured, "What the hell" I might as well. so here you are. The ACT, my ten page research project, and many other things have finally finished, so I can manage writing in my free time again. Note I still have a few AP tests coming up, but you can expect reasonable update periods.**

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"Holy crap. Spartans really don't die." O'Brian said in awe.

Anderson lowered his gun and raised his hand to show that his team was friendly. His mind was swimming, everything started making sense now. This had to be the rear half of _Forward Unto Dawn_, the man in front of him had to be Spartan 117, the man who had personally saved Earth three times. First at the battle of the first Halo, then at the battle for Delta Halo, and finally at the Ark. This would be a bigger discovery than the Forerunner world in Ursa Minor or even the _Dusk's_ recordings of Onyx.

He spoke carefully, making sure that the Spartan would hear him clearly, "Spartan One-One-Seven, we are friendly Human forces. If you will follow us, we will take you to Admiral Reagent, and he will debrief you. We can't explain everything here.

The Spartan nodded, but seemed slightly suspicious of the three soldiers.

Anderson turned for the door right as the radio turned on, "This is Warrant Officer Wilshire reporting in. I have some very bad news sir."

Anderson raised his gun and scanned the empty room a second time, "What is it?"

"Cheever and I took some air samples when the atmosphere turned on, and we're detecting large amounts of flood spores in the air. Also, second Platoon hacked into the video feed for the ship's cameras, and discovered movement near the armory. I strongly recommend that we abandon ship immediately."

Eyeing the Spartan, Anderson replied, "Yes, I agree." He then switched on his Team Com, "Everyone, we are evacuating the ship. There is a dangerously high probability of Flood on board, so be on guard. Head for the entry point ASAP, when I reach it, I am arming the bomb; anyone who lingers is going to watch the fireworks up close. Also, I have recovered an extremely valuable package, don't ask questions when you see it, we'll have time later. Move out!"

Anderson motioned to his fire team and to the Spartan, "We're leaving now, hurry up."

The Spartan seemed to trust him now, and they quickly exited the room. They saw many other teams already in the hallway, falling back as quickly as they could while still protecting themselves. Several looked up in wonder as the Spartan moved into the hallway. All the staring stopped though, when a klaxon began wailing, and the red lights started flashing. Everyone turned around, trying to find out what was happening, when a voice cried out over the Com, "The bulkhead's closing!"

Anderson looked, the hallway seemed so much longer now, their open door was now being sealed by a double bulkhead, each closing section was a foot thick, and spaced two feet apart, "I want everyone on the opposite side of that bulkhead Now!" he screamed over the bulkhead.

The fireteams broke formation and bolted for safety. Anderson was on the tail end, only four people were behind him, not including the Spartan, who was almost to the door already. The Spartan reached the door, and turned around, looking like he was going to go back and help. Anderson waved him off though, shouting "You're too valuable, stay there." The armored behemoth, complied, reluctantly.

When Anderson was halfway to the door, an inhuman roar from behind stopped him dead in his path. He turned around, then, under his breath he muttered, "Damn."

Standing in the doorway that led to where they found the Spartan, was a Flood combat form. It used to be human, and was probably stationed on the ship before it left the Ark some two hundred years ago. It didn't decay too badly because of the vacuum and freezing temperatures, but even so, the grayed form barely held the likeness of a human. Tentacles sprouted from its left arm, and its head was flopped over to one side. In its right hand it held a submachine gun. It looked at Anderson and his four soldiers still in the hallway and charged.

Anderson motioned to his men, saying, "Move, get out of here, I'll hold it off."

The four soldiers bolted as Anderson raised his prototype up to his shoulder; he sighted the running creature and sent a flurry of spheres at it while slowly walking back to the closing door.

Every single sphere hit its mark, but nothing happened to the form, the metal balls either bounced away, or stuck in the skin. The acid-filled balls broke on contact like they were designed to, but the Flood form, having no active nerve endings, didn't even flinch, but kept charging. "Freakin' concept weapons!" he shouted out, "What a person really needs is good ol' fashioned lead!"

Anderson threw the prototype to the ground, pulled his pistol out, and locked eyes with the flood. He fired five rounds into the thing's chest, making it crumple to the floor just as another form entered from a side-door only a few yards away. Another appeared in the door behind that one, and another from the opposite side of the hall, and yet another from where the first had come from. They all looked at him and seemed to grin. Behind him, the bulkhead clicked shut forever.

On the other side of the door, the soldiers were throwing around ideas on how to rescue him.

"Can we blow through?"

"No, the explosion might wound Anderson."

"What about the cutting torch?"  
"Are you kidding me? It's two steel doors, each at least a foot thick!"

"Well, we'll have to find a computer access terminal then."

"Still no use, at the best, we'd be able to find a quaternary control module. The flood control every tertiary control panel, they'd be able to stop us every time."  
"Well we can't just leave him there!"

A voice cut in over the radio, "You can, and you _will,_ soldiers." It was Fred Ward, the second in command, speaking from the Tug, "As of now, I am taking charge of the mission. Everyone evacuate the ship, bring the package with you. When the last person is off, I'm setting the bomb timer for five minutes."

One soldier objected, "But-"

Ward cut him off, I'm confused soldier, I thought I just gave you a direct order to abandon ship. I trust you do not want do be caught in the nuclear explosion with the flood?"

All the soldiers filed out without further incident, climbed on board the Tug, and watched as the timer counted down the ship's imminent destruction.

A silent explosion consumed the ship, creating an odd, oblong shadow on the nearby moon. A silver flash flitted across, and the shadow disappeared a moment before the orange flames died out.

Ward moved to a secluded corner of the Tug, and radioed the nearby satellite outpost, "Get me the Admiral" his eyes moved until they locked on to the Spartan, "I've got something I think he'll find very interesting."


	3. Changing Dawn in Dyson

**Author's Note – Sorry for the long wait, I've been studying for AP US History (It's on Friday the 9****th****). For those of you who haven't seen so already, I formally turned the last rant into an apology, you can read it if you want. Also, it took me a long time to find my Halo books, which I needed to write this chapter. After two weeks, I should be able to resume uninhibited writing. Wish me luck on my tests. **

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Chapter 3

Green, Waxy leaves shimmered in the morning light. They seemed to waver a bit, and then settled down, but not before a burst of motion that sent a rock soaring through the air. The fist-sized chunk of granite made a deep arc in the sky before landing on the ground with a metallic ding, and then a muffled thump. Closer inspection would reveal the fact that the rock never actually touched the ground. Instead it seemed to hover roughly a foot above for a few seconds, before rolling and landing in the grass. Soon after, a pair of bootprints impressed themselves in the grass, but with no visible boots.

Under the cloudless blue sky, where a field of grass met an ancient looking forest, a shimmering creature stood up, seeming to be made up of vapors. "Alright Olivia, you win."

The vapor creature disappeared, and was replaced by a solid human armored to the tow with green panels and a golden-looking faceplate. Moments after he appeared, an identical creature materialized from the dense forest. The newcomer's faceplate depolarized to show a happy, grinning lady.

The first armored person spoke, "We'll see whose laughing when it's my turn to hide, Olivia." Olivia just smiled more, this time laughing out loud, when suddenly, a new voice cut over the intercom in their helmets.

"Alright Ash and Olivia, playtime's over", it was a voice Tom knew well, it was the man who had molded him and everyone else he knew into Spartans, Chief Mendez, "Something odd has come up, and we need everyone to rendezvous at the Tower ASAP. No time to explain, just get over here now."

As he neared the Tower, Ash realized what a misnomer it was calling it that. The Tower was a square, cement-gray structure fifty feet square, twenty high. The only thing about it that justified the name Tower was the eighty-foot conical spike that jutted up alongside it like an antennae for a transistor radio. As Tom neared though, he noticed the spike appeared different today. Up until now, the Spike (which started one foot in diameter at the base and tapered to a point) had been slate-gray, like the building next to it, but today, the spire was shaped more like a pyramid, and was glowing blue faintly. Something was definitely happening.

They entered the building, and took in the view. The fifty square feet of the room was dominated by a circular stone table five feet in diameter. On the western wall, the five members of team Katana were carefully lined up, inside their slipspace cocoons. On the wall opposite them, were eight crudely woven bed-mats made out of the ever-present waist-high grass. Weapons were stacked on the Northern wall, opposite the entrance.

The bed-mats were empty though, and nobody was guarding the weapons. Instead, all six Spartans, one aging drill sergeant, and one elderly doctor had gathered around the stone table, which was now emanating light.

Ash edged closer to the edge of the table, which he now saw was showing a moving image. What appeared was a bird's eye view of a pair of Elites dressed in white lab coats wheeling a gurney through the halls of what seemed to be a Forerunner facility. Every time the pair rounded a corner, the screen switched to another viewpoint, making Ash feel like a security guard watching a pair of shoplifters weaving their way through a mall. It looked so real that Ash almost tried to reach out and touch it.

Then something happened that made Ash's jaw drop inside his helmet. One of the Elites stopped pushing the gurney, turned to the other, and in English words, and a Cockney British accent, spoke. "Why the Bloody Bloody Bloody 'ell are we 'elping this guy? 'E's our enemy!"

The other Elite let out a deep sigh, and placed a hand on his forehead, "Ataree, this man is a sentient creature in pain, that is why we are helping him. Is that not what all doctors are called to do?"

Ataree grabbed his friend's shoulder and pointed to the gurney, which Tom barely noticed concealed a body beneath the white sheet, "That person is an enemy, Konamee! You saw in 'is record 'es got bloody medals for what he's done against us!"

Konamee sighed once more, looking deeply at Ataree, "Politics can take over once he is healed of his wounds. But if you do try him, remember" he said knowingly, "That an sdversary scorned by his own can transform into the most loyal of allies."

Ataree softened his stare and grumbled, "I bloody 'ate arguin' with you, I never win." He turned to the gurney and sighed, "Well, I don't think 'e's gonna wheel 'imself to the infirmary." He grabbed one edge of the gurney, "Shall we?"

Konamee let out a hearty laugh and patted his friends back, telling him, "That's the spirit."

The image then froze for a moment before dissolving away, and the stone table quickly returned to its normal state. Everyone was silent for several seconds, before Mendez finally spoke up, "Well that has to be the oddest thing I've ever seen, and I've seen a lot of things. Anyone know what to make of it? Dr. Halsey?"

Dr. Halsey looked around at the small entourage surrounding her, "I have an idea of what happened, but if the adage 'two heads are better than one' is true, then I think fifteen heads are also better than ten."

Fred looked at her quizzically, "Does that mean you know how to free team Katana?"

"Yes, well I think so. I came up with the idea and tried to implement it shortly before that video began playing. Ash, bring me on of Team Katana please."

Ash nodded and walked over to where Katana was being stored. He looked at the five pods; Ryan-G239, Gary-G095, Tony-G310, Amy-G111, and her twin May-G112. They all looked the same inside their armor and Ash guessed it was probably because a faceless enemy was more frightening on the battlefield. A voice in his head whispered about Alpha and Beta companies, and told him that it was easier to send faceless soldiers to their deaths. He shook the thought aside and picked up the center pod and brought it back to Halsey. In the ten seconds it took him to grab a pod and bring it to the table, Halsey had taken out her computer and was already typing away.

"Doctor?" Ash asked quietly.

Without even looking up from her computer, Halsey pointed to the table, and said "Put him on there, upright. If I'm correct, your friend should pop right out.

Ash turned to Mark, who merely shrugged his shoulders. Ash grabbed the pod and set it on the table, and to his amazement, began floating several inches off the table. Everyone stared at the pod, Ash blinked once, twice, and then it was gone. The Spartan III fell to the ground, rolled to a wall, pulled out a pistol, and scanned the room. The pistol was lowered, and a girl's voice asked, "Where am I?"

Ash walked up to her, hands up, "It's alright Amy, you're safe."

She grabbed Ash's raised arm and then kicked his groin. Ash fell to the ground, and she looked down at him, saying in an annoyed tone, "My name is May."

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**Thanks for reading all the way through, and as always, please, please, review. Please. Thank you.**


	4. Dawn Darkens on Xi Persei

**Author's Note - Now, if you know me, I hardly ever do chapters which contain overt amounts of dialogue, but I figured some background was in order here. I was going to extend this with a "five months later" scene as well, but with finals coming up, I assume this is a fair amount, and I'll just tack it on the next chapter instead. On a side note, I am extremely happy because I got a 30 on the ACT (If I didn't forget my calculator, it might've been 31 or 32). I scored better than 97 percent of America (Not a very high bar, jk) and on the reading section, I scored a 36, which means Perfect, which just made me so happy I skipped to school for the past week humming **_**"Walkin' On Sunshine**_**", if you want to celebrate with me, I've got some cake and ice-cream at my house ;P. Ironically, I scored in the bottom 29 percent in the essay section, so go figure. Sorry about the long note, I'm just so happy. And please Read and Review (Or else you won't get any cake).**

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**Chapter 4**

"Welcome to Xi Persei, Master Chief Petty Officer Spartan One-One-Seven." Mick Reagent smiled slyly, "Or should I just call you John?"

John stood in the Admiral's office, clad in his full suit of Mjolnir armor, confused for a moment, when he had left Earth for the Ark, he was pretty sure nobody alive even then knew his name. Now, two hundred years later, this Admiral knows it. John surmised that his personal information was probably declassified by know, and before answering, took another look at the office. He was still amazed at the fact that nearly every surface seemed to be made out of Mahogany or Red Oak, the wooded surfaces were too many to count. Even the pictures –one of which was a stylized painting of a Spartan- were framed by it. Reagent's desk also, except for a small built in screen was made from the reddish-brown wood. The office was unusually bare for belonging to the Admiralty, just the desk, two bookshelves (Made from wood also) filled with books on ship-strategies, a green rug that seemed more like grass, and a pair of seemingly out of place, molded, blue plastic chairs, like the kind you would find in a public school.

The aged Admiral leaned back in his chair, squinting at John and waiting, John looked at the Admiral, and crossed his arms behind his back, "Yes, John is fine."

"Good" he replied, "Now that we have the formalities out of the way, I want you to know something John. You ain't in Kansas no more. I won't bore you with the details, but roughly ten years after you destroyed that Ark structure, the UNSC dissolved. A small civil war erupted, and apparently there were several hundred Spartan III's just waiting for that to happen, and led by a man named James Ackerson, they prevented anarchy, and restored order. Ackerson presided over his new government for ten years before dying, and one of the Spartan III's served after that."

John interrupted him, "Spartan III's?"

Mick chuckled, "Oh yes, I forgot they were still classified when you up and disappeared. You don't need to know much about them now, but if you do want to ask questions about them, one of our historians could tell you more later. Up until now, we have suffered one minor rebellion, and a few small trade disputes with the Sangheili, and every now and then, we have a skirmish with Jiralhanae and Kig-Yar, you would probably remember them best as Brutes and Jackals, respectively." John nodded, storing the new names in his memory. "All this history," Mick continued, "though, is not why I brought you here. We just suffered from a major rebellion six months ago, in which one-third of our planets seceded to form a new government, and approximately one-fourth of our warships joined their cause. AWOL infantry platoons can still be counted on your fingers though, so we are not worried about an invasion –yet- but the loss of our fleet is a large problem. What is worse is that the Sangheili Government is respecting their status as an independent state because of the large number of their species that live in the rebellious planets. The Sangheili have not declared war on us, but we have conducted operations, that if revealed…" Mick paused, "would result in a somewhat messy altercation, not quite the scale of the Human-Covenant war, but definitely comparable to it."

John paused him, lifting his hand as a signal, "I understand what you are saying, Admiral Reagent, but I would prefer you to just get to the point and tell me what you want me to do."

The Admiral grinned widely again, his wrinkled eyes narrowing further, "Still sharp I see, very well." The Admiral rose from his chair, even at seventy years of age he stood straight, and was six feet tall. He walked over to one of his many bookshelves, thumbing across the spines, "John, you of all people know how important unity is for a government's continued survival. You were originally trained to fight people who tried to splinter the UNSC weren't you? Unity is what we all need, but no matter how hard a person tries, no matter how much propag-" Mick shook his head, "I mean no matter how much proper care, some rebelious youth will always be unsatisfied, and they will try to make everyone else's lives miserable, unless they can be happy. We need somebody, correction, several somebodies who can get rid of these, these, these dissatisfied adolescents, before they capture the rest of their populace under their spell. That said, what I want of you, is for you to train us some Spartans. We lost all our records when Reach was glasses, then we lost our backups when research centers on earth were glassed, and finally, we lost our tertiary files when Onyx went the way of the dinosaurs, and the Spartan III's stuck to a code of silence until the day they died. You are the only person with even marginal knowledge of what Spartan training and augmentation was like." Mick turned to face the Spartan again, "So how about it John?" Mick extended his hand, "Feel like saving the Earth one more time?" Mick waited for a full seven seconds before a metallic green glove grasped his hand and shook it.

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In a shadowy room where a handful of men crowded around a monitor providing the sole light, the sound of eerily satisfied laughter could be heard. The screen showed an aging man shaking hands with a green behemoth, and at the sight, one man stood up, grinning broadly, he spoke, "Light the cigars boys, we just landed the mother lode."


	5. An Unfolding Dawn

**Author's note: Sorry for the long wait and short chapter, If you know my life, you can understand my difficulty in getting to a computer long enough to write. Hope you like it. Read and Review.**

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**Chapter 6**

"This is Delta Two-Four, we have an unauthorized entrance in corridor B Nine Five. Motion trackers detect five contacts. Military reaction is strongly advised."

Clad entirely in battle armor, the Rebel General, Othello, paused when these words scrolled across his HUD. Corridor ninety-five B was in the direct center of the Forerunner compound that housed that the Rebel movement had been using as their military headquarters for some months now. There were three floors above it and two basements below, so either it was an accidental incident, or some very careful agents from the old government.

Before he was able to think further, another message appeared. "Be advised, Contacts appear to be heavily armed."

As he unholstered his gun, a smile began to form underneath Othello's helmet

CPO Mendez looked down the grey, hexagonal, Forerunner hallway, then back at the Dr. Halsey, the three Spartans-II's, and small group of cloaked Spartan-III's around him, "Damn these things happen fast. One minute we're reviving Spartans, next minute, we climb into a portal that appears out of nowhere, and now we're running around like rats in a maze." He sighed, "Maybe I really am getting too old for this stuff, eh?"

Dr. Halsey smiled in response, "No, I get the feeling you've got one last big adventure in you yet Mendez."

Mendez smiled back, "I hope you-"

His sentence was cut short by a rapid series of slamming bulkheads. All up and down the hallway, at every intersection, areas were being cut off by steel doors. Mendez looked up, there was a small seam in the ceiling right above him. "Everyone get back!" he shouted as he rolled into the center of the intersection just in time, as the door slammed down and separated him from the group.

Ash decloaked and ran up to the steel barrier, yelling "Mendez!" as he pounded his fists against the metal.

As he did this a voice spoke, seemingly out of nowhere, "Ahhh, I thought there were more of you here. If you all decloak now, I won't pump your friend Mendez' room full of cyanide. If not, well, I hope you said goodbye already." A small chuckle followed the announcement before cutting off.

Fred, encased in his Mjolnir armor, shot a disapproving glance at Ash, then nodded to the group. All nine remaining III's complied.

"Good, now I want you all to toss your weapons away from you, to the other end of the hall or your room also gets gassed, and your lady-friend bites the dust." The man ended the message again with a sinister laugh.

Most of the guns didn't have any rounds in them, and those that did had only one clip, but Fred was still hesitant to comply. Reluctantly, he unslung his rifle, placed it on the floor, and slid it to the far end of the hallway about twenty yards away. Everyone else did the same.

Once done, the bulkhead at the far end opened up to reveal a man in a type of armor no-one in the group had seen before. It had a snub-nosed helmet, and the chest looked like it was made out of Kevlar scales. It was obviously battle-worn, because the material had been worn off in certain places to show ceramic and metallic tiles underneath. What was quite remarkable about the man though, was that while the left half of his armor was jet-black, the right side was faded to an almost white color. The man laughed as he stepped over the pile of weapons and surveyed the scene.

"Why hello there." he said in an almost warm way.

Immediately, Ash recognized his voice from the speakers, and shouted out, "Just who do you think you are?"

The man raised his hand to his chin in a mock thinking pose, "Let me think... I might be Fred Casely, or maybe I think I'm George Washington, or wait, this is a Tuesday, so that means I'm Mickey Mouse! Gasp, shock, awe, who would've guessed?" he let out a small burst of uncontrolled laughter. "Actually, you can call me Othello." He laughed once more, but quickly quieted himself. "I have a small proposition for you, you see? We," he snapped his fingers twice, and a pair of armored Sangheili warriors fell in beside him, "are fighting a stalemate war with an oppressive regime that wants to see us dead, and seeing you here gave me an idea. I know who you are, FredericKellyLindaHalsey, and I have a shocker for you, I don't know how you did it, but you managed to skip out on two-hundred years of time, and in that time, the UNSC turned into a totalitarian, even an Orwellian government, and we are simply trying to restore democracy to the galaxy. Peace, love, yadda, yadda, yadda. Or," he paused a moment, "I could kill you where you stand. So tell me," he chuckled, "Are you in?"


	6. Spies In the Darkness

**Author's Note - Thank you for the plethora of reviews for that last chapter, everyone cough not cough. Just kidding. Anyways, good news! I scored 4's on all three of the AP tests I took! Wohoo! Read and Review.**

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**Chapter 6**

_Ten Months after the Dawn's Discovery_

"… Ninety-three, Four-Hundred-ninety-four, Four-Hundred-ninety-five, Four-Hundred-ninety-six, Four-Hundred-ninety-seven, Four-Hundred-ninety-eight, Four-Hundred-ninety-nine, Five Hundred! C-232, I saw you skimp on that last push-up. That'll be ten miles around the track, and for your next two meals, you're getting a jug of water. Move it Maggot!" The Drill instructor motioned with his hand and a group of armed MP's escorted Spartan IV Recruit C-232 to the oval track. "Everyone else, shower and head to the Mess Hall. Dismissed!"

With that, the remaining 899 ten year-old boys and girls jogged sorely to the barracks, eager for their awaiting meals. The Drill instructor walked across the graveled parade grounds, through the pole-infested "Playground", over a grassy field, and through a guarded checkpoint before arriving at the officer's quarters, where he saw Admiral Mick Reagent and John sitting at a table, looking over various papers and pictures. When he opened the door, Mick quickly threw the papers into a folder. "Sorry to interrupt Sirs, but we had more problems with C-232 today."

Mick turned to him, "Again? If these things keep happening, we might have to cull him from the program."

The DI nodded, "One bad apple can spoil the whole bunch, Sir."

John, who had taken to wearing a traditional uniform now, instead of his Power Armor, spoke up, "I disagree, there were a handful of dropouts from my class, and we still performed well. Though, if you feel you must take him out of the IV training group, I would rather you make better use of him, because he has shown great promise. I wouldn't want him to end up like G-709." As he mentioned the name, the DI visibly shook.

Mick stroked his chin, deep in thought, and he squinted his eyes until they were almost closed. Slowly, a smile crept over his face until he was grinning ear to ear, "All right" he said slowly, "I think I know just what to do with him. Expect a call from Section 3 later this month, you'll be given instructions then. Dismissed."

The instructor nodded his head, turned sharply, and exited the building. After he closed the door, Mick opened the folder he had hastily closed, and pulled out a fuzzy picture of a man in battle armor, half white, half black. "As I was saying, from what our informant tells us, this man is one of their Generals. In addition to being a very demented person, he appears to be wearing one of our prototype battle armors. From this photograph, and our informant's description, it appears to be the PAX704 model. Most of our special forces wear it, especially the SPEAR's. They call it the Paxton Boy's Armor, but that is beside the point. Nobody who seceded knew about this armor, and all who died while wearing it were recovered, except for one incident involving a nuclear explosive, which you witnessed. So we cannot figure out how they got their grubby hands on one."

John thought for a moment, "Perhaps we have a spy in our midst as well."

Mick got out of his chair and began pacing around the room, stopping to pick up his Academy class picture. He looked at all the people in it and sighed before bringing it back to the table. "I graduated seventeenth out of a class of six-thousand around fifty years ago, and there were two things that never, ever crossed my mind. The first one was civil war, and the second was that we might have to deal with spies. Civil war is already upon us, but I hope we still don't have to deal with spies." Still standing, he continued, "Nevertheless, I'll start a search immediately. There is one matter yet though," he bent over the table, face-to-face with John and pointed at the fuzzy picture, "I want this man Dead!" As he said this, his face sharpened, his wrinkles became less apparent, and a coldness seemed to build up behind his blue eyes.

He stormed out of the building, but before closing the door, he added, "And I think you're the man for the job."

John folded his arms and stared at the papers in front of him, alone.


End file.
